It's a Plague & You're Invited
by HelmHammerhand
Summary: Having caught a sudden illness, Jean finds himself in a windowless broom closet, quarantined for weeks on end. He's resigned himself to a lonely death, full of delirium. At the edge of his madness, a shining, golden dream makes it's way to his room.


Connie and Marco stood by the side of the bed, exchanging gloomy looks. Marco frowned, "I'm sorry Jean, Shadis says that no one is allowed to be in here except the nurse. He says you're being quarantined."

Jean's eyes flickered with rage. "Quarantined? What the hell does that mean?! I've got to lay here feeling like I'm on my death bed without a soul to mourn me? What a fucking joke." He tried to scoffed, but it brought on a coughing fit. Marco knelt down to rub his back, trying to ease the pain. Jean turned into the pillow, eyes shut, gritting his teeth. "A fucking joke…" he murmured into the fabric. "What am I supposed to do?"

"We can try to bring you some books!" Connie chirped excitedly. Jean gave him a death stare that made him shrink back.

"Do I look like I need a book right now?" Jean sighed. "I suppose it couldn't hurt, there's not much else to do anyway. But no nonfiction! It's too boring." He turned his back to the pair, staring blankly at the wall.

"We'll see what we can scrounge up," Marco said. Jean heard them walk out, shutting the door behind them.

_'Fucking Shadis, that sadist prick…'_ he thought. The room that was now his prison cell had previously been the supply closet. It showed. Bags of rice were stacked up against the corner, beside them were several folded linens. There wasn't even a window, only a floor lamp with a naked bulb. With a groan, Jean curled up into a ball. His stomach felt like it was churning butter with his insides. Cold flashes shot up his neck, and he quickly leaned over the edge of the bed. Luckily, Marco had enough foresight to put a bucket near him, because Jean was going to need it. After he had finished retching, Jean collapsed back onto the bed. Although he tried to fight it, his body took over and coerced him to sleep.

Jean stared at the ceiling. He tried closing his eyes, but he could still see it. The grain of the wood was permanently carved onto his eyelids. He had memorized every inch of the room, not like there were a many of them. Marco and Connie had kept their promise; a neat stack of books sat on the small table beside Jean's bed, appropriately placed on the opposite side from his bucket. They weren't much company however, and he'd neglected them. The nurse wasn't much entertainment either. Jean had tried starting several conversations with him, only to be told to lie down before taking having his temperature taken. He'd began imagining visitors; usually someone he knew, but they were becoming more fantastic. A particular favorite of his was a small, glowing sprite who enjoyed lilting about the room silently.

What Jean needed was someone to talk to, someone real. He felt like he was going crazy, from the constant lying down and lack of stimulation. His mind wandered endlessly. Initially, whenever he heard people pass outside his door he'd try to call out to them, but they'd just keep walking. _'I really am a prisoner.'_ Jean lay dejectedly on his side, staring at the now very familiar rice sacks. He couldn't even estimate what time it was, or which day. Everything had started to blur together. Someone was walking by again, but by now Jean had given up hope. No one was allowed to visit, Shadis' orders.

His eyes darted open; he hadn't heard the footsteps continuing down the hallway. Jean flipped over and stared intently at the door, he could see the shadow of their feet standing in front of it. He didn't believe it, had expected the person to keep walking, but they were just standing there.

"Don't be shy, come on in and see the Amazing Deathly Ill Jean Kirschstein." He called out to them.

The person shifted on their feet, and slowly the door creaked open a bit. Eyes peeped in, but he couldn't make out who it was.

"Seriously, if you're going to come in then do it, but don't tease me."

The door opened a little wider, and Armin stepped in quickly. He shut the door behind him gently, and turned to face Jean.

"Wow, you do look like quite the wreck," He said quietly, looking first at Jean and then around the room.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Jean croaked. He stared at the ceiling, feeling miserable. He'd wanted company, but why did it have to be Armin? He didn't want him to see him like this, sprawled out in his own damp sweat, mumbling to himself like a wild animal. All of the work he had put into trying to impress Armin would have went right out the window, had there been one.

Armin gave a small laugh, inching closer to Jean's bed. Kneeling down, he whispered, "Jean, we must be quiet. It's after lights-out now, I snuck out to come see you. If Shadis finds us he'll have both our heads."

Jean turned his head towards the blonde, looking at him distrustfully. "Why would you risk punishment just to see me?"

Armin blushed, and looked away. "I-I brought you something. It's not very warm now, but I hid it at dinner tonight." He held up a piece of bread that Jean hadn't noticed he was holding before. "It's not very tasty, I'm afraid, but I think it will help. Better than the gruel they're feeding you, at least." Jean stared at the bread, eyes wide, then back up at Armin. His body decided this was the perfect time for a coughing fit, and Jean tried to bury himself into the bed in pain and embarrassment.

Armin looked at the boy with great concern. He placed the bread on the table beside the books and glanced over the titles briefly, trying not to feel self-conscious about his presence in the room. He felt foolish, and lovesick. Jean had been in quarantine for over a week, with Armin growing more desperate to see him with each passing day. Now he was here, standing beside his bed and feeling incredibly awkward.

When he could breathe again, Jean turned to look at him. His voice was huskier than before, but he managed to pry a thank you out of his vocal cords. Armin nodded, "Of course." An awkward silence lingered between them, stretching seconds into minutes in the timeless void of the room. "Well, I suppose I should get back.." Armin began to move towards the door.

"Please don't go."

The words were rushed, and filled with desperation. Armin felt his heart thump against his chest, and faced Jean again. He looked so pale, his golden eyes were dull and his eyebrows were furrowed. "Please. I'm going mad in here all by myself. Stay and talk to me, Armin?"

It took Armin a few moments to find his own voice, and he couldn't mask the excitement in it when he spoke, "Certainly, Jean." He walked back and sat on the edge of the bed. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to talk about?"  
Jean looked into his azure eyes and shook his head. "I want to listen to your voice. Tell me about anything you want, just please don't stop talking."

Armin grinned, and chose his words carefully. He was acutely aware of the rooms miniature size, and the heat from Jean's body that radiated through the blankets and onto his fingertips. Slowly, he started talking about the book his grandfather had given him, full of descriptions of the outside world. With each sentence his words became more rushed, pouring out of him in gentle waves. Jean found Armin's voice incredibly soothing, watching as Armin's hands made elaborate gestures in an attempt to describe the impossible landscapes. He closed his eyes, letting the boy's voice wash over him.

In time, Armin noticed Jean's lidded eyes and steady breathing. He sat watching the gentle rhythm of the boy's chest. _'He doesn't look quite so pale anymore,'_. Allowing himself a small smile, he reached out his hand and brushed some of the sweat-matted hair away from Jean's forehead. Armin found the look of peace on his face comforting. _'Sickness be damned,'_ he thought. Armin hesitated for only a moment, before he leaned forward and placed a scattering of gentle kisses along Jean's brow. Then he silently let himself out of the room.


End file.
